


Irises

by chameleontattoos



Series: The Catriona Cousland Chronicles [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Dinner, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Modern Thedas, cat is anxious-panic-pining, zevran is just pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21647584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chameleontattoos/pseuds/chameleontattoos
Summary: Catriona Cousland invites her friend (and crush) Zevran Arainai over for Christmas dinner, because they're both alone for the holiday and Cat apparently likes to inflict emotional distress upon herself.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Cousland, Zevran Arainai/Female Warden
Series: The Catriona Cousland Chronicles [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1343761
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Irises

**Author's Note:**

> Written as inspired by the prompt "Two people who are secretly romantically interested in one another. They agree to share Christmas dinner together, just as friends, because a family holiday isn’t going to happen and all of their other friends are already busy" which I sourced from [here](https://www.bryndonovan.com/2017/12/13/25-christmas-writing-prompts-for-holiday-inspiration/)!

_ To: Zevran _

_Cat: Hey zev, do you have any plans for Wednesday yet?_

_Zevran: I cannot say that I do. Why do you ask?_

_Cat: I was just thinking…_

_Idk I just feel like Christmas is one of those holidays that it kind of sucks to spend alone, and the idea of being alone on Christmas is kind of rough for me anyway because of how I used to spend it with my family but now I can’t? And also, it didn’t sit right with me that you’re probably not going to have anyone to hang out with on Christmas either, which is bollocks because you deserve it_ , she types out, and backspaces the whole thing.

 _I’m free as well so I was just wondering if you would be interested in dinner at mine?_ She says instead.

_Zevran: The length of that message seems to be at odds with the time it took for you to type it out._

_Cat: Haha yeah, I had to let the dog out in the middle of it. Sorry to make you wait!_

_Zevran: My dear, you are one of the few I do not mind waiting for.  
As well as your delightful behemoth of a pet, of course._

So, that settles that. Zevran is coming over for Christmas dinner. Just Zevran. Just Zevran Arainai, the man who Cat’s been steadfastly pretending that she doesn’t want to kiss tenderly on the lips at two in the morning on a rooftop surrounded by foggy neon lights.

Oh, _Maker_.

Cat is saved from descending any deeper into a spiral of panic-longing by the loud, clanging collision of Razor’s stainless-steel water bowl and the kitchen tiles.

“Zev called you _delightful_ , you know.” Cat forces herself to put her phone face-down on the coffee table, rolling off the couch. “Wait ‘til I tell him what a horrible housemate you are when there’s nobody but me around to wait on you hand and foot.”

The mastiff _whuffs_ at her and scoots the empty bowl across the floor with a paw.

“He’s going to be over here later this week for dinner,” Cat says, holding out a hand in the signal to _Give_. “Because I’m a lovesick disaster case.” She takes the bowl from him, rubbing the top of his head. “Good boy.”

Razor shoves his nose into the side of her thigh, smearing drool across her leggings.

“Thanks, Razey.”

\----

Most of Cat’s Tuesday morning is spent meal planning. Nothing especially extravagant; pork roast, throw in some vegetables, pick out a couple of bottles of wine. She does text Zevran to check that pork and wine is the way to go, and ask whether he prefers fruit mince pie or something else for dessert. He says yes to pork, please get red, and fruit mince pie is fine, with an excited emoji and a happy blushing emoji.

“He’s going to kill me and he’s not even _here_ ,” Cat complains, smushing Razor’s jowls up into his eyes. Razor takes it all in stride, flicking his tongue out to dollop a doggy kiss on her chin.

She goes out after lunch to assemble her arsenal of home-cookable Christmas victuals, adding a couple of blocks of chocolate to her basket as an afterthought. She will absolutely _not_ be snacking on those over the duration of the remaining hours between now and Zevran’s arrival in order to cope with the stress.

Not that it really helps, in the end, because once it gets to Wednesday night, also known as Christmas Day Night, he’s standing there on her welcome mat in fawn-coloured slim fit chinos and a button-down shirt in a lovely shade of robin’s egg blue with the first three buttons undone and Catriona has never felt more stressed in all her life.

It should be a _crime_ for a person to be this pretty. Cat is going to _die_.

“Thanks for coming down!” she says in lieu of fainting dead away in the hall. She shoves the grinning face of her panic into a cupboard in her mind palace and deadbolts the door. She’s invited him over as a gesture of _friendship_ , damn it, and she’ll not let her emotions get the better of her.

“I am grateful for the invitation,” Zevran smiles, holding out a _bouquet of flowers_. Andraste. “These are for you. To thank you for—” he falters, strangely, pink blooming high on his cheeks. “Ah, the invitation.”

The bouquet is mostly irises. Because naturally, since the universe clearly wants Cat to go right ahead with the aforementioned fainting, Zevran has remembered her favourite flowers.

“They’re lovely,” she breathes, because they are. Irises trump panic-pining every time. “Here, come in, I’ll find a vase—you remember where the living room is?” She sidles over to let him in and closes the door behind him.

“I remember,” Zevran confirms, bending over to untie his shoelaces one-handed. Cat whips around to avoid staring at the sliver of lower back that peeks out from underneath his shirt as it rides up, and makes a beeline for the kitchen and the cabinet where her vases live.

“I hope the roads weren’t too busy for you on your way over here,” she calls out conversationally, shoving Razor’s slobbery face out of her way while she tries to reverse-Tetris the purple vase out of the cabinet. Not for the first time, she laments her impulsive tendency to buy every cute vase she comes across. She always ends up putting the fear of the Maker in herself trying to pull one out without breaking any of the others. It really is a curse.

“They were not so bad.” Zevran’s voice floats over to her from the direction of the living room. It’s slightly muffled by the walls between him and the kitchen. “I have sat through many worse rush hours on a normal work day.”

“Oh, good, good!” Cat nods, forgetting that he can’t see her. “I was worried it might take you a while to get through. I’ve got enough food to feed a hungry elf, but a starving elf might cause a few problems.” She successfully extricates the vase and straightens, breathing a sigh of relief that her brain seems to have recovered from the shock of his arrival. Good Friend and Dinner Host, Catriona Cousland, ready for action.

Zevran has made himself comfortable on the lounge by the time she joins him in the living room, juggling the vase—which is now half-full of tap water—as well as a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He’s always looked far too _right_ perched in that same spot every time she has him over. Like he belongs there. _Fuck_.

“Dinner does smell amazing,” he says, grinning cheekily and _oh, maybe a full system recovery is impossible, that’s fun_. Cat feels her stomach flip at the look on his face and her ears go warm at the praise, praying that he chalks her sudden blush up to modesty. She busies herself with arranging the irises in the vase and serving the wine as he continues. “Perhaps I am not a starving elf, but a hungry elf faced with _delicious_ roast pork may surprise you.”

“I’m not running out to the shops to find you more food if you decide you’re not satisfied, so you’d better resign yourself to being happy with what you get,” Cat snorts, passing Zevran his glass. His fingers are warm against hers as he gently takes it in hand. She focusses on finding somewhere for the vase of irises to go so that Razor won’t be able to get to them rather than dwell on _that_.

Zevran sips his wine, makes an appreciative noise that definitely doesn’t make fond warmth bloom in her chest, and cocks his head. “I have never found myself unhappy with anything where you are concerned, my dear. You are quite the singular figure, you know.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Cat blushes for real this time. _Singular figure_. Hardly.

“You doubt me? It is true.” Zevran blinks at her. “I would not have accepted your dinner invitation, had I not believed that it would be a delightful way to spend my time.”

“I knew you only liked me for my cooking,” Cat quips. She means it as a joke, but as the words leave her it occurs to her that it really would be quite upsetting if Zevran didn’t value her friendship as much as she does his.

Zevran smiles. “I most certainly do not.”

Cat really wants to know _what the fuck that means_. But naturally, he doesn’t elaborate, because he’s himself. Instead, he takes another sip of wine, meeting her curious gaze with raised eyebrows. “Hm?”

She opens her mouth to ask, but the shrill ringing of the oven timer provides her with the perfect reason not to. “I should, uh… get that out. I’ll just—” She pops up from the couch. “I’ll let you know when everything’s ready!”

Zevran makes to get up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nope!” Cat squeaks, waving her hands. If Zevran steps one foot in the kitchen to help her serve up _Christmas fucking dinner_ —not that he knows about how important personally serving dinner for all of their guests on Christmas had been to her parents. Nobody does, except Fergus, and Fergus isn’t here to cover her ass—Cat just _knows_ she’ll be overwhelmed by the memory association and the domesticity of it all and expire on the spot. “You just sit right there. I’m in charge. I’ve got this.”

Thankfully, he surrenders, settling back onto the couch without a word of complaint. No, not settling—he _nestles_ , and she has to make her escape before the sight of him wiggling around to get as comfy as possible ruins her.

“Get it together, Catriona,” she mutters, skolling her wine and placing her glass resolutely on the counter. “Friendship is important.”

Cat forcibly blocks out all Zevran-related thoughts while she carves the pork and plates the vegetables and sets the table. Setting the last knife down, she steps back to admire her handiwork. The roast pork is cooked to perfection, veggies just that tiny bit pork-flavoured from being roasted in the same tray, plates and cutlery shining like porcelain and stainless-steel gems. She even has some homemade gravy in a little jug. _Not too shabby_.

The look on Zevran’s face when he sees the meal—even as simple as it is—reminds her why she went through with the idea to invite him over in the first place: because she cares about him, as a friend cares about her friend, and wants him to feel included. None of the extraneous romantic urges and desires for kissing matter right now. What matters is that he’s _delighted_ , and it makes all the fussing over recipes and polishing of dinnerware worth it.

“Take a seat,” Cat laughs. “Preferably before you start drooling all over my floor. That’s supposed to be Razor’s job.”

“Maker forbid I take such an important duty from him.” Zevran pulls out the dining chair to the left of the head of the table and sits himself down with all the grace of a dancer, examining the thick slabs of pork with enthusiasm. “This roast really does look spectacular, Catriona,” he says earnestly.

She feels her ears warm again as she nods shyly. “Thanks, Zevran.”

He doesn’t move to touch the food, but family tradition does demand a certain order of operations, but Zevran isn’t family and her parents aren’t here, so she awkwardly clears her throat and says, “I’d like to serve you myself, if—if that’s okay,” because she figures she should at least give him the option. “Just the first helping.”

There’s a moment where he seems confused by the request, but then he nods.

Cat releases a breath that she hadn’t realised she was holding and smiles gratefully at him. She spears a piece of pork and gently lays it on his plate, following it up with the parsnips, sweet potato and broccoli. Then she serves herself, takes her place and picks up her cutlery.

Belatedly, she remembers that for some people, even regular dinner comes with its own traditions. “I’ve never been one to say Grace or anything, but if you…?”

Zevran shakes his head, taking his own knife and fork in hand. “Neither am I, it is alright.”

“Well then, let’s dig in, shall we?” Cat grins. “See how much food a hungry-not-starving elf can put away.”

His answering smirk is rakish and lopsided and too handsome. “Is that a challenge?”

“I don’t know, is it?” Cat returns, thankful to both her voice for not cracking out of sheer _oh Maker_ and a pesky piece of sweet potato that won’t stop and let her get her fork into it properly for giving her an excuse to not look at him.

“I won’t take it to be one, for the sake of fairness.” Zevran’s smirk persists for a moment before his expression softens. “It would be a shame if my lovely hostess did not get to enjoy her own cooking to the degree that she deserves.”

“Because I’m so _singular_ , naturally,” Cat deflects, even as her brain has latched onto the way Zevran said _lovely hostess_ and _deserves_.

“Indeed,” he says. “A singular woman, and one whose attention I am glad to be monopolising.” He speaks so _casually_ , as though he’s commenting on the weather and not inflating her heart to dangerous, structurally unsound levels. She’s _going_ to explode, and he’s sitting there chewing contentedly on broccolini like it’s _nothing_. Andraste’s flowery _underpants_.

“Yes, well—” Cat coughs delicately, taking a _generous_ swallow of wine. “It’s not like my intentions were entirely virtuous, were they? I mean, if I’d had plans of my own, I mightn’t have asked you around in the first place.”

“I do not mind being a victim of your selfish whims.” Zevran chuckles. “I did not have anything better to do either, after all.”

“True enough.”

After that, Zevran launches into a retelling of something that had happened to him earlier in the week, which leads into another story; Cat is quite content to just munch on her food and listen to him talk. Maybe she’s biased, but she’s always liked Zevran’s monologues. The timbre of his voice puts her at ease in a heartbeat, and his accent seems to breathe new life into a language that she’s known since before she was old enough to speak it herself.

But all too soon—and it _is_ all too soon, in spite of how many times Cat has felt about a sneeze away from swooning like a fairy-tale maiden and what a _hassle_ it’s been—it gets to an hour of the night when Zevran needs to be getting home.

Cat hovers nearby while he puts on his shoes. “You’re sure you’re okay to drive?”

“I had two half-glasses of wine and you saw me drink both of them, my dear,” Zevran replies; when he straightens, he’s smiling. “I will be alright. But your concern is appreciated.”

“I gave them to you; it’d be neglectful of me not to be,” Cat points out.

“Allow me the fantasy that you are not worried for me simply out of propriety.” His smile widens. “It is much more pleasing to my ego.”

“You’re such a pest.” Cat shakes her head, exasperated yet _so fond_.

“Ah, but it is endearing, no?” Zevran winks. “All part of the patented Zevran Arainai brand of charm.”

“Sure, Zev,” Cat says. It’s ostensibly to humour him, but he has no idea just how well _the patented Zevran Arainai brand of charm_ has worked on her. “You’re a real character.”

“And you had me all to yourself tonight. Some people have all the luck.”

 _You have no idea_ , Cat thinks. What she _says_ is, “Truly, I am the luckiest woman in all Thedas, to be so fortunate as to spend time alone with the great and wonderful Zevran Arainai. And my dog,” which is basically the same but minus the undertone of goopy yearning.

“A merry Christmas indeed.” Zevran burrows a hand into his front pants pocket and pulls out his car keys. “Alas, I must now deprive you of more of my company if I want to get home before midnight.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, you _pest_.” Cat hands him the small container of leftovers she’d thrown together, just for snacks. “Watch your speed. No joyriding until you’re sober.”

“Yes, dear.” Zevran winks again. He’s out the door with Tupperware in hand before Cat can come up with something coherent to say in response, and he’s in the car and driving away by the time she does.

“Unbelievable,” Cat mutters.

\----

She brings the vase of irises upstairs with her when she goes to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and welcome to!! A self-made challenge that might actually spill over into January because I now know that these prompts are liable to get away from me (I started and intended to post this one on the 1st).
> 
> These works will be with characters and ships from a mix of fandoms. Possibly some original material? Maybe? Let me know if you'd be into that; if not, I'll honestly probably still write them, but just not post them here. The works will all be collected into the one series. All of the prompts come from the link I included in the beginning note - if you decide to tackle one or a few, please feel free to @ me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/solarfruit)!


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